The Grand Dark

by Richard Kadrey

  “I have nothing but time,” said Rainer. He sat across from Largo. “Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?”

  Largo plucked some lint from the top of the sofa. “There’s so much going on. It’s hard to know where to begin. But I was out with Remy last night and there was a fire.”

  “Are you both all right?”

  “We’re fine. But the fire wasn’t the worst part. People in the crowd, including a sort of friend, collapsed with the Drops.”

  Rainer leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “That is serious. Sometimes I think my isolation is a gift in that it keeps me away from things like the Drops.”

  Your isolation is a lot of things, but it’s not a gift, thought Largo. He said, “Neither of us has to worry about the Drops.”

  “Why is that?”

  Largo told him about his conversation with Dr. Venohr.

  “How funny. Morphia addiction is the trick? Of course, that presents its own problems.”

  “Such as?”

  “There’s prison, of course. And then there’s living forever and watching your friends fall dead around you.”

  “You’re morbid tonight,” said Largo.

  “I’m morbid every night. I just don’t always get the chance to share it with others.”

  Rainer got a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen and poured some for each of them. Largo gulped his down while Rainer sipped his through a steel straw. Careful as he was, a little dripped from his disfigured mouth. He wiped it away with a dirty handkerchief he took from his pocket.

  Reluctantly, Largo said, “I hate to ask, but can you spare a drop or two of morphia? I don’t have any and can’t get hold of Remy. Besides, I don’t think Una wants me back at the Grand Dark tonight.”

  Rainer got up without a word and came back with a bottle. Largo put three drops under his tongue. He wanted more, but he didn’t want to use too much of Rainer’s supply.

  “Feel better?” Rainer said.

  “Much. Thank you.”

  “Good. Now, please, go on with what you were saying.”

  Largo said, “The Drops isn’t the strangest thing going on. And maybe I’m making too much of it, but people are disappearing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re gone for a few days and when they come back they’re different.”

  “Different how?”

  Largo chuckled. “I feel strange for complaining about it. But they come back better. Nicer. Calmer. Have you ever heard of anything like that?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Rainer, reaching for the whiskey.

  “A man I know says that there’s a gang taking people for ransom.”

  Rainer poured them another drink. “He might be half-right. There are gangs, but they’re not looking for ransom.”

  Largo sat up straighter. “Then what?”

  “Slaves,” said Rainer, looking toward High Proszawa. “I was right. Things are happening there. Looters and grave robbers need laborers and the easiest way to get them is simply to take them.”

  Though he was still limp from the morphia, Largo tensed. “The last time I was here you weren’t so certain about what’s going on up north.”

  “You’re not the only person I talk to.”

  “Who do you know who knows about slaves?”

  Rainer laid a hand on one of his boards. “Sometimes the dead talk to me.”

  Largo relaxed. “Oh.”

  A rasping sound came from the wireless speaker. It was Rainer laughing. “I’m also back in contact with some people—old friends from the war who bring in contraband from the southern colonies. They talk about awful things happening in High Proszawa.”

  Largo sipped his drink and considered the idea. “That might explain the disappearances. But why are people different when they get back?”

  “Large parts of the north are still plague zones. Disease alone could scramble their brains. The plague bombs might even be the origin of the Drops.”

  “Do you think the plague is catching?”

  Rainer leaned back. “Who knows? It’s been there for so long it might have metamorphosed.”

  “But why doesn’t it kill the looters?”

  Rainer leaned his head back. “That is an interesting question, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” Largo said. “If the Drops is related to the plague, the looters must use morphia too.”

  Rainer laughed again. “A city of thieves and addicts,” he said. “How appropriate. There you go. Mystery solved.”

  “Except . . . why would they bring slaves back and risk them remembering what happened? Why not just kill the ones they don’t want?”

  A flying Mara flashed by the window and they both turned to look.

  Rainer said, “They could reason that too many permanent disappearances would draw in the bullocks. Maybe even the army. But plucking a few people off the streets and returning them? That’s more of an anomaly than a reason to panic.”

  Largo put down his drink. “Slaves. It’s horrible. Unbelievable.”

  Rainer held his drink in both hands. “You should have been in the war. You’d have learned that while many things are horrible, very few are unbelievable.”

  Largo had always been afraid to ask Rainer, but tonight was a night for overcoming fear. “Do you hate me for not going?”

  Rainer looked at him. “Of course not. You were the smart one. Look at me. I was at the front fighting for God and the Fatherland. We all were. And what did we accomplish? We mutilated ourselves and destroyed High Proszawa. Yet the plague remains. The enemy remains. And we made a home for thieves and slavers. They or the plague will be on us before long.”

  Largo pointed to the spirit board with his glass. “Did you learn that through the boards too?”

  “No. The situation is obvious.”

  “I’m still skeptical of your spiritual interests,” said Largo.

  “I know.”

  “But not as much as I was.”

  Rainer set down his whiskey. “Really? Why is that?”

  Largo looked at the scratches on his knuckles from his fall on the docks. “Have you ever heard of Vera Baal?”

  Rainer pointed to the wall above Largo’s head. He turned and saw a leaflet with a color chrome of Vera’s face.

  “She’s one of the best mediums in Lower Proszawa.”

  “I saw her last night,” said Largo. “Not for long, but I saw her conjure a spirit. I didn’t believe it at the time, but I don’t have any other explanation.”

  Rainer’s blue eyes locked on Largo’s. “Tell me about it.”

  Largo told him about Anita Mourlet’s performance and how she’d introduced Vera. How the spirit appeared and the white ribbon from Vera’s mouth caught fire.

  Rainer nodded excitedly. “The ribbon was trans zamlžení. A foreign term and difficult to pronounce, but important. It means the physical manifestation of spiritual energy. It can be very unstable.”

  “I wish someone had told the bastard with the cigar.”

  “Did people die?”

  “I haven’t looked at the yellowsheets,” Largo said. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “You have to face these things sometime, Largo.”

  “I know. I promise I’ll look tomorrow.”

  Rainer wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. “If you learn anything, let me know. In the meantime, I’ll try my boards. If many died, there will be restless spirits in the city.”

  “What do they say to you?”

  “Different things. Some tell me about their lives; others, the world. Still others don’t know that they’ve passed on. In those cases, it’s my duty to try to help them.”

  Largo frowned. “It sounds depressing.”

  Rainer moved the platen to the middle of the spirit board. “It is, sometimes.”

  Largo regretted not bringing food with him. He wondered if Rainer was eating. “Did you ever get your pension check?”

  “Yes,” he said, an
d clapped his hands. “Thank the Minister of War’s puckered arse. Would you like a smoke to celebrate?”

  Largo held up a hand. “No, thank you. I want to have my wits about me when I ride home.”

  “Afraid of kidnappers?” said Rainer as he lit a hashish cigarette.

  “I think it makes sense. But do you? I’m serious. I’m trying to separate rational fears from irrational ones.”

  Rainer drew in some smoke and let it out again. “Kidnapping is a wholly rational fear right now. Do you have your knife?”

  “Always.”

  “Are you ready to use it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re better prepared than ninety percent of the city.”

  That made Largo feel better. “Maybe I will have one more drink. But just a small one.”

  The next day, Largo bought a copy of Ihre Skandale from one of the kiosks in the Great Triumphal Square and read it at lunch. Six people had died in the fire at the Golden Angel.

  Rainer will have plenty of spirits to talk to.

  What surprised him was that there wasn’t a single mention of anyone with the Drops. Surely someone as famous as Enki deserved an acknowledgment. Largo looked through the rest of the paper. It was the usual mix of lurid murders and overwrought interviews with the families of the disappeared. However, there wasn’t a single mention of the Drops anywhere.

  Strange. It seems like the kind of story Ihre Skandale readers live for. I’ll have to ask Ernst the next time I see him.

  When he got to the company he found that two more couriers had gone missing. It was another long day with extra deliveries for everyone. Largo liked the added money, but the only thing that made the work bearable was counting down the days until Friday, when he would meet with the Baron again.

  His deliveries took long enough that he was almost late getting to the Grand Dark that evening. The theater was closed to the public, but Una and the players had invited friends to see the previews of two new plays. Largo was surprised when he spotted an older man standing by himself in the lobby.

  “Dr. Venohr?”

  The doctor shook Largo’s hand warmly. “Good to see you under better circumstances than last time.”

  “It’s good to see you too. How are you? Remy seems to be doing wonderfully. She said that you checked in on her the other day.”

  “Yes, I paid her a visit at her flat,” Venohr said. “It was impossible to get her to come to my office, so I did a quick examination where she couldn’t escape.”

  “And how did she seem?”

  “In perfect form. I don’t think you have any need to worry about her. But be sure that she takes the pills I gave her and doesn’t miss a single dose.”

  “I’ll make sure,” said Largo. “Is she who invited you to the theater tonight?”

  Venohr looked around the lobby. “Yes. I wasn’t sure at first, but I don’t get many invitations of this sort. It seemed like an opportunity I shouldn’t miss.”

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself. Una’s plays are vivid, to say the least.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Largo lowered his voice. “Do you mind if I ask you something serious? Something medical?”

  “Not at all. What is it?”

  “You know about the disappearances in the city?”

  “I’ve heard about them. Why? Do you know someone who’s been abducted?”

  “Three people, in fact,” Largo said. “And when they came back, they were all different. Nicer. Strangely calmer. Do you know something that could account for that?”

  Venohr thought about it for a moment. “I’ve heard such reports and discussed it with some colleagues. We think that it’s purely psychological. Shock from the trauma of the abduction. Don’t worry. Given time, I’m sure they’ll return to their old selves again.”

  Largo put his hands in his pockets. “Too bad. There are a couple I like better this way.”

  The doctor laughed lightly. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

  “Oh well. It was worth asking.”

  The lights in the lobby flickered and everyone moved into the theater. Largo sat close to the stage with Venohr. The doctor had never seen puppet performers before and wanted to get a good look at how they worked.

  The first play was the story Una had been so excited about—the mad scientist who put his dead lover’s head onto a Mara body. In the play version of the story, the scientist’s reborn lover immediately launched into an affair with his much younger and more handsome assistant. The scientist caught them and killed them both before killing himself. However, before the inevitable bloody murders, there were copious amounts of sex between both scientists and the human-Mara hybrid. Largo felt Dr. Venohr grow restless and uncomfortable during these scenes. At the end, the play received only polite applause.

  During the intermission, Largo said, “Don’t worry, Doctor. The plays aren’t all that . . . extreme.”

  “You needn’t worry about me. I was just caught a little off guard,” said Dr. Venohr.

  “What did you think of it overall?”

  “I’m not sure. How about you?”

  “It wasn’t one of Una’s best,” Largo whispered. “She told me about the idea just the other day and I think she rushed to get it onstage.”

  “I suppose she’ll try to top herself with the next play,” said Venohr a bit nervously.

  “With luck, she spent more time writing it.”

  The lights flickered and they went back into the theater. This time the doctor led them to seats in the back row.

  Largo thought the second play was better than the first, but also more disturbing. It was the story of a political murder, not unlike Una’s The Erotic Underworld of Blixa Konstantin. In the new play, Heinz, a radical who had seduced a young, aspiring actress, Ella, killed her after she failed to carry out a political murder. Afterward, he threw her body into the bay. Heinz escaped the police, but ran into a unit of armed Maras who promptly clubbed him almost to death. The beating was long and bloody. At times, Dr. Venohr covered his eyes. Just when Largo thought the play was over, an angry mob appeared onstage and decapitated Heinz. They marched offstage holding the head up high and singing patriotic songs. The applause for this play was more enthusiastic than for the first, which disturbed Largo. It seemed close enough to reality that it felt crueler than Una’s usual supernatural tales. He tried to remember what story from Ihre Skandale it might be based on, but nothing came to mind.

  Dr. Venohr didn’t stay for the party after the plays were finished. They said their goodbyes and by the time Largo got backstage, it was crowded and lively. The performers were surrounded by friends and admirers. Largo ended up complimenting Una on the show out of simple politeness, and to diffuse any residual annoyance she had with him. Remy had played the innocent girl in the second play, even though Una had written the part for Lucie.

  “She never turned up,” said Remy. “Una even sent Ilsa to Lucie’s flat, but her roommate said she wasn’t there. We’re all worried.”

  Baumann was there in an expensive new blue suit, something he’d obviously worn for Lucie. He stood alone by her dressing room and when Remy saw him, she called him over.

  “Have you heard anything?” he said.

  “No. I was hoping you had,” said Remy.

  “Not a word. I was going to take her to dinner, but I’m not sure what to do now.”

  “I hope she isn’t hurt,” said Largo, but he was thinking, I hope she hasn’t disappeared. The thought of Lucie being forced to dig through ruins in a plague-ridden war zone was too awful to contemplate.

  “Or worse,” said Baumann. “I heard Enki came down with the Drops.”

  Remy said, “I know. We were there.”

  Baumann looked at her. “So it’s true?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Baumann absentmindedly scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know what to do or think.”

  Largo said, “Maybe we should call the hos
pital. She could have simply fallen or been in a tram accident.”

  “That’s a great idea,” said Baumann. “I’ll see if Una will let me use her Trefle.”

  When Baumann left, Remy pulled Largo into a room at the far end of the backstage area. It was full of hooded bodies. Some were clothed and some nude. They leaned against the walls and hung by hooks from the ceiling.

  Remy said, “Do you like it? I like to imagine it’s some madman’s abattoir.”

  Largo went to some of the bodies and lifted their hoods. “Is this all of them? I’ve never seen a puppet after a show before.”

  “Gruesome, isn’t it?”

  “It is, a little.” He picked up an arm from a pile of limbs in the corner and smacked Remy on the ass with it. “I feel like a grave robber on Christmas morning.”

  She laughed and said, “I thought you’d like it. Now come and kiss me.” She took out the bottle of morphia Dr. Venohr had given them. Largo was surprised at how much they’d already used. They put drops under each other’s tongues and kissed. As the warmth spread through his body, Largo pushed Remy against the wall and their kisses became more passionate. She unbuttoned her blouse and Largo kissed her breasts. Behind them, the door opened. Ilsa started in with one of the young stagehands, but stopped when she saw them.

  She giggled and said, “I’m so sorry.”

  “We don’t mind,” said Remy. “Look. There are three other perfectly good walls not being used.”

  Ilsa grinned. “You’re so silly,” she said, and pulled the embarrassed stagehand outside.

  “Maybe we should go back too,” said Largo. “They’re going to miss you and send less-attractive search parties.”

  Remy buttoned her blouse and said, “You’re probably right. Besides, someone out there must have cocaine. We need to find them.”

  Largo went to get them drinks while Remy made her way around the party hunting for drugs. When he found her, she was talking to Hanna. “No one has a single bit of cocaine,” she said. “Or so they claim.”

  Hanna said, “Baumann probably does, but I don’t think this is a good time to ask.”

  “I hope he finds Lucie soon,” said Remy. “It feels strange to hope someone is in the hospital, but what a relief it would be if she’s just twisted her ankle.”